


Time and Tide

by Justgot1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Sherlock, Female-Centric, Femslash, Genderbending, Johnlock Roulette, Lesbian Character, No shame, PWP, cunt worship, hormones can be used for good instead of evil, shame is for amateurs, that's right I said it, those of you under the age of thirty have so much to look forward to you have no idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justgot1/pseuds/Justgot1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...wait for no man.  Not in this bedroom, anyway.</p><p>Joan Watson ♥'s her body.  Sherlock agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Tide

Dawn broke and Joan was the sea.  One foot in her bed and one in her dreams, she floated boneless and ran her mind down herself, slowly.  Yes, the tide had come in, definitely.  Oh, lovely.

The duvet was soft on her bare skin and she lazily pointed a foot and stroked her calf underneath it.  The covers moved and a small puff of warm air rolled up her torso, bringing her the complex musk of herself, and she tucked her nose under the covers and breathed it, greedy.  Her body, primed.  She was so _warm_.

She could feel the slickness at the tops of her thighs and she shifted her hips an inch in each direction to enjoy it.  She slid her hand down to check and her fingers came away wet.  She sniffed them; salty, skin, her own animal smell but deeper, stronger.  Her abdomen gripped a little, inside, a twitch of wanting.  She pressed her hands against her belly, palmed the softness around her navel that no amount of running through the streets of London ever seemed to whittle away.  Not that she was bothered much.  She didn’t need to look like a magazine; her life was the stuff of novels.  She slid them up to her breasts; they felt heated and softened, full and tipped with fire.

She finally cracked an eyelid against the morning light.  Next to her, Sherlock was a puff of black curls and a surprisingly large lump for such a slight woman.  Joan rolled towards her and the motion caused a little warm liquid rush between her legs, a ripple of desire from her core. The little ache below her belly felt like a finger crooking in invitation inside her, _come here, come inside, see how easy I am making it for you to come inside_. 

The movement of the blankets released more voluptuous scent and she sniffed it deeply.  She loved her own smell when she was like this, when every part of her body felt plump and rosy, her sex swollen.  She could smell it on herself all day, wondered how people in the street didn’t drop where they stood or turn to follow her.  She felt magnetized. 

Sherlock was asleep, her long black lashes stirring slightly against her cheek, flushed with night-warmth.  One hand was tucked under the pillow and the other curled sweetly under her chin, like a child.  Joan shuffled carefully into the half-circle of Sherlock’s naked body, skin just touching.  Sherlock shifted, sighed, the little crinkle at the bridge of her nose folded then smoothed again and her eyes slowly slid open to half-mast.  In the morning sun, they were the color of the Caribbean.  She crooked a half smile and lifted her elbow, letting Joan slip under her arm.

“Sherlock,” Joan whispered, in a tone of soft greeting, _hello, you’re here, it’s another day, isn’t it amazing?_

“Early,” said Sherlock, roughly.

“Yes.”

“You woke me on purpose.”

“Yes.”

“You never wake me.”

Joan pressed her body against Sherlock’s, breast to thigh.  Sherlock hummed.  Joan slid her knee up and over Sherlock’s hip.  The rich smell of her arousal filled the small humid space between them.

“Ah,” said Sherlock.

“Yes.”

Sherlock smoothed her palm down the curve of Joan’s back, over the dip of her waist and up to cup one of her breasts.  Sherlock pretended to weigh it in her hand like a greengrocer and Joan snorted.  Sherlock slipped her fingers into the downy hair between Joan’s legs, down to where she was slick and aching and touched the wetness there, rubbed it between her fingers.

“Oestrus,” she declared and Joan laughed, breathy. 

“Sherlock I’m not a _cat_ , that’s not really what– ”

“Immaterial.  Call it what you like…” She held Joan firmly at the neck and the small of her back and rolled them, pressing Joan into the pillows.  “…your estrogen levels are at their peak, your basal body temperature is, hmm, high, your, _ah_ ,”

Joan released Sherlock’s earlobe with a small wet sound and ran her tongue around the shell of her ear, stopping to suck on the hollow beneath it.  “Oh do go on,” she purred.  “I love it when you talk biology to the doctor.” 

“In that case,” Sherlock murmured as she shuffled down the length of Joan’s body, “I shall begin … with some Latin terms.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [On my Tumblr.](http://justgot1.tumblr.com/post/70216033213)


End file.
